Poetry is just not enough
May 13, 2007
Well, what do you know…
Yesterday, when I actually managed to force myself out of my
couch potato state (I had been in it since February) and clean up pieces of my
shitty life (starting with my bedroom), guess what came out underneath the heap
of junk I have squirreled away for years? A printout of an excerpt from the
book “He’s Just Not Into you” by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo. I remember a
dear friend of my mine forwarding this to me way back (if you’re reading this,
you know who you are bitch 
) but I never really got the chance to read it. The
title was enough to put me off. At that time, I had better things to do and was
too busy finding my feet in the road I’ve chosen for myself.
Unearthing it is surely a strange twist of fate. It is
exactly the thing I need at this point when I have pretty much wasted months of
my precious short life waiting for… a false hope.
I fooled myself
thinking that there was something out of the stares you throw me while I pretend
not to see them. That there was something special out of those brief exchanges
of poetic rumblings we’ve had. That there was something behind that smile, that
tender tap on my shoulder, your gentleman posture. That there was something out
of, unmistakably, nothing. Well, the wait is over pal and I’m ready to move on.
I’m afraid poetry is just not enough.
